Just saw his name mentioned on FB. Another friend I guess I'll have to delete. Tagged him at the Pattaconk - just like old times, I guess.
My whole body jolted. Just seeing his name. Remembering the things he did.
It's been determined that Trevor will need therapy to deal with the years he spent with Gary. Having talked with two separate LCSW's about getting help for Trevor, they've told me it's not something he will talk to me about, beyond his usual "I won't ever let you live [your relationship with Gary] down." They said he's going to need to talk to someone who will listen to him talk about the things Gary put him through.
I feel horribly guilty about this. I knew it was an issue. Gary and I constantly fought over Trevor. Mostly because he believed Trevor should behave like a "normal" kid and do "normal" things. Trevor was a puzzle piece that didn't fit neatly into Gary's picture-perfect image.
The day he said to Trevor that he was going to shove his fist down his throat, I should have left. That day. That instant. In that moment.
Instead, I stuck around and allowed him to theoretically do it to both Trevor and myself and now we are both paying for it. What he put Trevor through - what I allowed him to put Trevor through - is a terrible mistake that I have to live with and learn to heal and move on. My stupidity, hope and blindness kept me from leaving, as well as his repeated promises of change. So now Trevor and I carry this enormous bag, filled with five years of pain and hurt and humiliation and not being good enough.
While he goes out to karaoke at the Pattaconk.
And he has the audacity - the sheer idiotic, unimaginable insolence - to think I'm obsessed and want him involved in my life?
I couldn't be far enough away from him and his lies and his fakeness and perversions and distortions.
So grateful to have people in my life who understand and who know how just driving north on Route 9 causes me enormous anxiety. They know - have seen themselves - the emotional, physical and mental effects of his abuse and neglect. They help me, talk to me and mostly just understand. For that I am grateful. Trevor is a different story, though. He hides his emotions or, at least, cannot identify them. Just speaks of his hatred of the man and those years in Haddam when he was the victim of constant badgering and put-downs.
We have a lot of healing to do.
Showing posts with label relationship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationship. Show all posts
Friday, May 17, 2013
Friday, January 4, 2013
Frayed Khaki's
Rupture the silence with a knock on the jamb
Tell me once more, how beautiful I am
"It doesn't matter," he said, "about your past,"
Falsities spoken through a clever mask
So wait, it's a lie. And it's not what I want
Taunted, misled by his beautiful front
Those perfect khakis, frayed at the ends
But he stood around proudly, just fitting in
Pointing and laughing, telling stories, calling names
I saw your facade but stayed, just the same
Could the tenderness of a child's truth
Reach to the hardened core of you?
No, the snow's dirty. The ground, grassless.
The sky, starless; and me, classless.
The "classless cunt," you said, I recall
I protected you from it, you took no fall
God forbid your true colors be shown to your friends
God forbid they see your khakis, frayed at the ends.
-Cristina Johnson
Tell me once more, how beautiful I am
"It doesn't matter," he said, "about your past,"
Falsities spoken through a clever mask
So wait, it's a lie. And it's not what I want
Taunted, misled by his beautiful front
Those perfect khakis, frayed at the ends
But he stood around proudly, just fitting in
Pointing and laughing, telling stories, calling names
I saw your facade but stayed, just the same
Could the tenderness of a child's truth
Reach to the hardened core of you?
No, the snow's dirty. The ground, grassless.
The sky, starless; and me, classless.
The "classless cunt," you said, I recall
I protected you from it, you took no fall
God forbid your true colors be shown to your friends
God forbid they see your khakis, frayed at the ends.
-Cristina Johnson
Inside Out and Backwards
My name is Cristina D. Johnson.
Another nightmare... about Gary.
Times like these I wish there were some way to convey how deeply he hurt me, to him. I know - or I have to believe - that he's not an all-out monster. I want to believe that it would somehow matter, that he would somehow "get it" and.... I don't know.
Easier, I suppose, would be convincing a rock or talking to the cat who would undoubtedly turn abruptly away and shove her backside towards me in an urgent call for massage.
No, he'd never get it and I don't suppose he would ever want to. I suppose if he ever really wanted to "get it," he would have when we were together.
I know a lot of this is transference. He happens to be the poor sap who simulated my father so well in so many ways that my brain has these wires crossed now, and I can't figure out how to uncross them.
Mixed messages. He gave me horribly painful mixed messages and that is why these nightmares won't go away. That, and he verified a truth for me that hurt, even though I know it to be true and always have: there is an "us versus them" in this world. And it's immensely painful.
With the typical interaction, I am safe behind my wall, viewing very cautiously with an Eagle eye, watching every single move, motion, word, action, reaction, expression.... everything. I seek inconsistencies. I look for reasons not to let people in. I do not do this with malice; just self-preservation, like a deer who runs into the woods, so as not to be seen or a bobcat who peers every direction before coming into the open.
I spot inconsistencies like a hungry wolf spots a rabbit and this keeps me safe. It works in two ways:
One, it tells me with pinpoint accuracy who to trust and not trust.
Two, it makes the blows of that person(s) anticipated and, so, they don't hurt as much. I can - for the most part - let their angry, judgmental, uninformed, unkind words/actions roll off my back like water on a duck.
But then there are the less-than-a-handful of people who I allowed "in" and when I say less than a handful, I am not exaggerating. I can think of only four who were so close to me, they were beneath my skin, running in my blood. I saw no wrong in them. I trusted them with my entire being.
The first was my father. Naturally.
Also my ex-husband and my oldest son (long story) and, finally, Gary.
These people managed to come behind the curtain. I embraced them and trusted them.
My father's transgressions were many but my love for him never died. My adoration and need for him survived the pain he caused. Today, there is still a sickening need for his love.
My ex-husband did a number of hurtful things to me. He was (and still is) a very cocky, arrogant man; the kind of man who is unkind to waitresses and poor people. A stereotypical southern man's man. Years of infidelity, abuse, and a host of other toxic elements of our relationship did not sever my love for him. It was not until - just like Gary and my father - I realized he was deliberately hurting me, just to get a reaction, that something inside of me broke. I could almost feel it physically - like the snap of a rubberband that's been stretched too far. Just snapped shut. He knew, that day, it had happened. He knew me so well, that just by the look on my face, my cold countenance and the way I looked at him and said, "You deliberately hurt me," that it was over. Our marriage was over.
My son... as a child bride, I had a painfully inaccurate and askew view of him. He was a protector, rather than my son. I would be remiss if I did not say I know this is wrong and inappropriate and in my conscious mind, he was my child - someone to take care of and teach and guide. But subconsciously, unbeknownst to me, I had developed a dependency on him and through years of turmoil (his and mine), he never failed to be loyal. When he grew to be a young man, things changed and he began to make mistakes that - at least once - garnered my rage at the many pimps, gangsters and rapists I grew up with. This was transference, again. Wreaking havoc in my life. But like the son he always was, he took my heated words and let them scorch him, without saying a word back. When the day came that his loyalty was tested and he left, I was devastated beyond words. This was the same betrayal I felt from my father.
And finally, Gary.
I didn't let him in right away. It wasn't for years, actually. And, in truth, I questioned whether the relationship was viable in the beginning. But my determination won out and I stayed, telling myself - and him - that my past did not affect me any longer.
At the time, it was true.
In the end, when he urged me to seek help through therapy, I was leery, but I was also weary and I agreed. I went to see his therapist. Mistake number one, I suppose.
Ultimately, after months of swearing he loved me and would never leave me, it happened. I was in utter disbelief. But that's not what causes the nightmares.
The nightmares come from the correlation between the way Daddy hurt me, then loved me and the way Gary hurt me, then loved me. I begged him - Gary - not to do these mixed messages. If our relationship was over, fine but please....no mixed messages, no deliberate hurt. Please.
I may as well been begging the sun not to rise.
I can't know what his reasons were but for whatever reason(s), he needed to be in charge, needed the power to hurt me, and needed to use it. I don't know what he gleaned from it except to save his own skin. It went like this:
He would come home, be nice to me, then suddenly kick me (figuratively speaking), walk away and leave me there crying over what'd just happened, then go out and tell others that he didn't know why I was acting the way I was acting.
Over and over again, day in, day out, night after night, this happened until the mere sound of his footsteps caused me so much anxiety that I would gag (which eventually turned into vomiting). I felt like a prisoner. But then he would do something kind - and make sure everyone knew he'd done it - only to turn around and kick me again.
Mixed messages. For someone with PTSD and DID this is horrendous. But for someone with PTSD and DID who dared to let you in and trusted you, this is beyond horrific pain. It's astonishingly unbearable. It was very much like being raped over and over again. Like being locked in that basement when I had nowhere else to go and tormented. How much this resonates with my childhood abuse cannot be overstated.
I tried explaining, but he didn't care.
I didn't understand and I am still in such guttural pain over it that nightmares pervade my sleep.
Disbelief and pain; anger and fear.
Some might ask: What about Bill?
I've never let him in, because of the phenomenal person he is. Paradoxical, I know, but true. Why let someone as wonderful and beautiful as he, in my ugly world of muddy water, gutter snow, biting cold and darkest dark? Why subject him to it?
He's been the best friend I've ever had. Why risk losing him? Why risk showing him?
Everything is backwards. Everything is inside out.
My tears fall inside. Tears over Gary and what he did to me. This wound he ripped open even further and now it hemorrhages and I can't stop the bleeding, no matter how hard I try.
I am not angry at him, though I am angry at myself.
With him, I am hurt and confused. Shocked.
Scared.
When will these nightmares go away or, at least, move aside so the true shadows, ghosts and demons can be released?
Another nightmare... about Gary.
Times like these I wish there were some way to convey how deeply he hurt me, to him. I know - or I have to believe - that he's not an all-out monster. I want to believe that it would somehow matter, that he would somehow "get it" and.... I don't know.
Easier, I suppose, would be convincing a rock or talking to the cat who would undoubtedly turn abruptly away and shove her backside towards me in an urgent call for massage.
No, he'd never get it and I don't suppose he would ever want to. I suppose if he ever really wanted to "get it," he would have when we were together.
I know a lot of this is transference. He happens to be the poor sap who simulated my father so well in so many ways that my brain has these wires crossed now, and I can't figure out how to uncross them.
Mixed messages. He gave me horribly painful mixed messages and that is why these nightmares won't go away. That, and he verified a truth for me that hurt, even though I know it to be true and always have: there is an "us versus them" in this world. And it's immensely painful.
With the typical interaction, I am safe behind my wall, viewing very cautiously with an Eagle eye, watching every single move, motion, word, action, reaction, expression.... everything. I seek inconsistencies. I look for reasons not to let people in. I do not do this with malice; just self-preservation, like a deer who runs into the woods, so as not to be seen or a bobcat who peers every direction before coming into the open.
I spot inconsistencies like a hungry wolf spots a rabbit and this keeps me safe. It works in two ways:
One, it tells me with pinpoint accuracy who to trust and not trust.
Two, it makes the blows of that person(s) anticipated and, so, they don't hurt as much. I can - for the most part - let their angry, judgmental, uninformed, unkind words/actions roll off my back like water on a duck.
But then there are the less-than-a-handful of people who I allowed "in" and when I say less than a handful, I am not exaggerating. I can think of only four who were so close to me, they were beneath my skin, running in my blood. I saw no wrong in them. I trusted them with my entire being.
The first was my father. Naturally.
Also my ex-husband and my oldest son (long story) and, finally, Gary.
These people managed to come behind the curtain. I embraced them and trusted them.
My father's transgressions were many but my love for him never died. My adoration and need for him survived the pain he caused. Today, there is still a sickening need for his love.
My ex-husband did a number of hurtful things to me. He was (and still is) a very cocky, arrogant man; the kind of man who is unkind to waitresses and poor people. A stereotypical southern man's man. Years of infidelity, abuse, and a host of other toxic elements of our relationship did not sever my love for him. It was not until - just like Gary and my father - I realized he was deliberately hurting me, just to get a reaction, that something inside of me broke. I could almost feel it physically - like the snap of a rubberband that's been stretched too far. Just snapped shut. He knew, that day, it had happened. He knew me so well, that just by the look on my face, my cold countenance and the way I looked at him and said, "You deliberately hurt me," that it was over. Our marriage was over.
My son... as a child bride, I had a painfully inaccurate and askew view of him. He was a protector, rather than my son. I would be remiss if I did not say I know this is wrong and inappropriate and in my conscious mind, he was my child - someone to take care of and teach and guide. But subconsciously, unbeknownst to me, I had developed a dependency on him and through years of turmoil (his and mine), he never failed to be loyal. When he grew to be a young man, things changed and he began to make mistakes that - at least once - garnered my rage at the many pimps, gangsters and rapists I grew up with. This was transference, again. Wreaking havoc in my life. But like the son he always was, he took my heated words and let them scorch him, without saying a word back. When the day came that his loyalty was tested and he left, I was devastated beyond words. This was the same betrayal I felt from my father.
And finally, Gary.
I didn't let him in right away. It wasn't for years, actually. And, in truth, I questioned whether the relationship was viable in the beginning. But my determination won out and I stayed, telling myself - and him - that my past did not affect me any longer.
At the time, it was true.
In the end, when he urged me to seek help through therapy, I was leery, but I was also weary and I agreed. I went to see his therapist. Mistake number one, I suppose.
Ultimately, after months of swearing he loved me and would never leave me, it happened. I was in utter disbelief. But that's not what causes the nightmares.
The nightmares come from the correlation between the way Daddy hurt me, then loved me and the way Gary hurt me, then loved me. I begged him - Gary - not to do these mixed messages. If our relationship was over, fine but please....no mixed messages, no deliberate hurt. Please.
I may as well been begging the sun not to rise.
I can't know what his reasons were but for whatever reason(s), he needed to be in charge, needed the power to hurt me, and needed to use it. I don't know what he gleaned from it except to save his own skin. It went like this:
He would come home, be nice to me, then suddenly kick me (figuratively speaking), walk away and leave me there crying over what'd just happened, then go out and tell others that he didn't know why I was acting the way I was acting.
Over and over again, day in, day out, night after night, this happened until the mere sound of his footsteps caused me so much anxiety that I would gag (which eventually turned into vomiting). I felt like a prisoner. But then he would do something kind - and make sure everyone knew he'd done it - only to turn around and kick me again.
Mixed messages. For someone with PTSD and DID this is horrendous. But for someone with PTSD and DID who dared to let you in and trusted you, this is beyond horrific pain. It's astonishingly unbearable. It was very much like being raped over and over again. Like being locked in that basement when I had nowhere else to go and tormented. How much this resonates with my childhood abuse cannot be overstated.
I tried explaining, but he didn't care.
I didn't understand and I am still in such guttural pain over it that nightmares pervade my sleep.
Disbelief and pain; anger and fear.
Some might ask: What about Bill?
I've never let him in, because of the phenomenal person he is. Paradoxical, I know, but true. Why let someone as wonderful and beautiful as he, in my ugly world of muddy water, gutter snow, biting cold and darkest dark? Why subject him to it?
He's been the best friend I've ever had. Why risk losing him? Why risk showing him?
Everything is backwards. Everything is inside out.
My tears fall inside. Tears over Gary and what he did to me. This wound he ripped open even further and now it hemorrhages and I can't stop the bleeding, no matter how hard I try.
I am not angry at him, though I am angry at myself.
With him, I am hurt and confused. Shocked.
Scared.
When will these nightmares go away or, at least, move aside so the true shadows, ghosts and demons can be released?
Monday, August 27, 2012
Called Police
Had to call the police the other night when I discovered two of my email accounts were shut down and my website was shut down. The officer was nice but at first didn't understand the gravity of the situation.
He asked if I would be willing to go with a police escort to get my things from "him" and I said, "You don't understand, officer. I have PTSD and DID and he triggers me worse than anyone or anything ever has."
Once I explained this - as well as the email and website issues - he contacted the ...other party, and then called me back.
He said the "other party" would be returning my things to the Essex police department, and an officer would bring them to me, but said there would have to be some contact in order for him to transfer ownership of my website. This is the most dreadful thing in the world to me - having to hear his voice. Just the thought of the things that happened, cause me to throw up. People have no idea...just have no idea....God...
The officer then told me there should be no further contact between us and I assured him that I have absolutely no desire to see, speak to or hear him at all, ever. Not because I hate him, but because I loved him so much, and I am still beyond mortified over the things he did to me. Deliberate things, horrible things, agonizing things.
He accused me of "stalking" him because I went to the same sitting spot I've gone to for months, with Bill, with no idea of whether or not his boat would be there. While there, his boat did show up and, yes, I yelled a few obscenities but I didn't really figure he heard me. It just felt good to scream...God it felt good to scream. He hurt me so bad, and still is. Just needless, vengeful, childish stuff...just exerting control, like always.
It hurts that I had to defriend a number of people from my friend's list because simply seeing a picture of his boat triggered me. It got that bad. It got that abusive. Plus he's concerned about his image. Ironic, I think, given what he's done to mine.
I immediately emailed my therapist. I was so shook up Friday night. I couldn't eat, kept gagging, crying, scared. I don't know why scared, but scared. Scared, I guess, that one person could have so much control over your life and you feel helpless to do anything about it. Scared of myself ...scared that my choices have led me to all these horrible relationships that always end up with me feeling terrified.
But never like this. I've never been affected like this.
All it does is make me question everyone and everything (including myself) even more (which is why I defriended so many people).
How can I trust, after this? How can I ever trust anyone with my journey? My pain and my experiences? How can I ever open up to anyone again when it was spat in my face, used to deliberately hurt me?
Gagging now, just thinking about it....
The no contact order was initiated by me, for the record, which isn't officially a 'no contact' order because there's no need - clearly we want nothing to do with each other. It was just an unofficial police officer telling us no contact.
Fine with me.
For you: You'll always have a place in my heart - I loved you deeply, and that doesn't just go away. I wish you the best and hope you have a happy life.
He asked if I would be willing to go with a police escort to get my things from "him" and I said, "You don't understand, officer. I have PTSD and DID and he triggers me worse than anyone or anything ever has."
Once I explained this - as well as the email and website issues - he contacted the ...other party, and then called me back.
He said the "other party" would be returning my things to the Essex police department, and an officer would bring them to me, but said there would have to be some contact in order for him to transfer ownership of my website. This is the most dreadful thing in the world to me - having to hear his voice. Just the thought of the things that happened, cause me to throw up. People have no idea...just have no idea....God...
The officer then told me there should be no further contact between us and I assured him that I have absolutely no desire to see, speak to or hear him at all, ever. Not because I hate him, but because I loved him so much, and I am still beyond mortified over the things he did to me. Deliberate things, horrible things, agonizing things.
He accused me of "stalking" him because I went to the same sitting spot I've gone to for months, with Bill, with no idea of whether or not his boat would be there. While there, his boat did show up and, yes, I yelled a few obscenities but I didn't really figure he heard me. It just felt good to scream...God it felt good to scream. He hurt me so bad, and still is. Just needless, vengeful, childish stuff...just exerting control, like always.
It hurts that I had to defriend a number of people from my friend's list because simply seeing a picture of his boat triggered me. It got that bad. It got that abusive. Plus he's concerned about his image. Ironic, I think, given what he's done to mine.
I immediately emailed my therapist. I was so shook up Friday night. I couldn't eat, kept gagging, crying, scared. I don't know why scared, but scared. Scared, I guess, that one person could have so much control over your life and you feel helpless to do anything about it. Scared of myself ...scared that my choices have led me to all these horrible relationships that always end up with me feeling terrified.
But never like this. I've never been affected like this.
All it does is make me question everyone and everything (including myself) even more (which is why I defriended so many people).
How can I trust, after this? How can I ever trust anyone with my journey? My pain and my experiences? How can I ever open up to anyone again when it was spat in my face, used to deliberately hurt me?
Gagging now, just thinking about it....
The no contact order was initiated by me, for the record, which isn't officially a 'no contact' order because there's no need - clearly we want nothing to do with each other. It was just an unofficial police officer telling us no contact.
Fine with me.
For you: You'll always have a place in my heart - I loved you deeply, and that doesn't just go away. I wish you the best and hope you have a happy life.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
I Do Love Him
My name is Cristina D. Johnson
So today in session, I was frustrated because I told Michelle (my therapist) that I am frustrated because I want to work on me. Me. I'm tired of being enmeshed and consumed by the grief and pain I feel over my break-up with "him."
"You act like you're supposed to be over it by now," she said casually.
"I feel like I should because I have more important things to do. I want to move on - like he has."
"It's only been two weeks," she said compassionately. "You're in pain."
This made me weep. I use the word "weep" intentionally - because to me, weeping is crying from someplace inside untouched...a tender place of utter pain.
I wept and cried and sobbed. I feel so confused and so devastated and betrayed. There simply are no words. And for all these weeks - until recently - I've kept it all in, kept it to myself, so terrified over the things "he" told me he'd said to others.
Tonight one of his friends told me that "he" is hurting, too, which I just cannot fathom because of the things he's said, done and threatened.
This "friend" also said I look like an ass for "airing dirty laundry" and I need to clarify.....
I'm not trying to air any dirty laundry. I am defending myself when - for weeks - I was stuck in a basement with no friends and nobody who cared with a man who was - according to him - telling everyone my personal business (some of which I know because I saw it on his FB).
I'm not trying to make him look bad, nor make myself look good. I am trying to heal.
When I was a very, very little girl - as far back as I remember - I wrote. I had no voice. My voice was taken. But the paper and pen were my friends and I could write whatever I wanted. Sometimes I would sit with paper and pen and just transcribe conversations my grandparents were having, just so I could write. Sometimes I would simply practice changing handwriting, making my "Y's" or "J's" different (eventually I learned calligraphy).
I write my feelings. It's both a curse and a blessing.
I think - at this point, given his friend's perspective - I should point out that I loved him - and still do - so much. I tried. Oh God I tried...I tried to be important. I tried to be what he expected as, also, I was raised to be. I went into my relationship with him intellectually - as did he - and somewhere in the middle of it, we decided to go deeper and we did.
I did, anyway. I can't speak for him.
I opened up like I never have before. I shared more than I have ever shared with anyone. I was terrified.
But this place - this man - was the wrong place, wrong man. Wrong venue. Wrong everything.
Things like I've gone through don't happen in pretty white houses with blue shutters and picket fences so sharing my truth, my experiences, my pain and my disorders was too much for him. On some level I get that. In fact, on some level...in some part of me, I kind of expected it. Nobody, I suppose (or, at least, nobody like him) should be expected to understand what I was going through.
Still, I hoped. I wanted to marry him. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
I'm not "over it" and won't be for a long time. Sharing such deep, hidden wounds with someone for the first time, only to go through what I went through with him, caused some serious damage to me.
But I love him still. I miss his scent. I miss how he (almost) always woke up in a good mood. I miss how he misspeaks words because of his Italian heritage. I miss his hands.
I miss him.
My intention in sharing my story is not to trash him or anyone. I hope this comes across loud and clear.
I sometimes have angry blogs, yes, but I am human and writing is my venue. I don't know how to speak - yet.
But I will one day.
And I'm sure one day, I will look back on this whole thing and be able to pluck from it, things I've learned...things I can take away from it. But for now, I am beyond hurt. Just crushed. Promises are important to me and many, many promises were broken. A lot of trust was betrayed.
I've never claimed to be an angel and I've publicly aired my own transgressions. I just never posted them on FB but they're there. For example, My Current Truth is my blog about how horrible I felt.....what a monster I felt like as he was doing "his thing."
I felt like a monster, an outcast, some kind of ....trash as he told me the things he told me he was telling others. Nothing and nobody could hurt me more than myself, beating myself up.
Even today, I had a "friend" beat me up over an incident that happened during this time.
It's my hope that in the end, I'll be able to show my face again and not be afraid. But as for love....as for relationships.... I understand I must first heal myself.
My blog is one piece of that.
So today in session, I was frustrated because I told Michelle (my therapist) that I am frustrated because I want to work on me. Me. I'm tired of being enmeshed and consumed by the grief and pain I feel over my break-up with "him."
"You act like you're supposed to be over it by now," she said casually.
"I feel like I should because I have more important things to do. I want to move on - like he has."
"It's only been two weeks," she said compassionately. "You're in pain."
This made me weep. I use the word "weep" intentionally - because to me, weeping is crying from someplace inside untouched...a tender place of utter pain.
I wept and cried and sobbed. I feel so confused and so devastated and betrayed. There simply are no words. And for all these weeks - until recently - I've kept it all in, kept it to myself, so terrified over the things "he" told me he'd said to others.
Tonight one of his friends told me that "he" is hurting, too, which I just cannot fathom because of the things he's said, done and threatened.
This "friend" also said I look like an ass for "airing dirty laundry" and I need to clarify.....
I'm not trying to air any dirty laundry. I am defending myself when - for weeks - I was stuck in a basement with no friends and nobody who cared with a man who was - according to him - telling everyone my personal business (some of which I know because I saw it on his FB).
I'm not trying to make him look bad, nor make myself look good. I am trying to heal.
When I was a very, very little girl - as far back as I remember - I wrote. I had no voice. My voice was taken. But the paper and pen were my friends and I could write whatever I wanted. Sometimes I would sit with paper and pen and just transcribe conversations my grandparents were having, just so I could write. Sometimes I would simply practice changing handwriting, making my "Y's" or "J's" different (eventually I learned calligraphy).
I write my feelings. It's both a curse and a blessing.
I think - at this point, given his friend's perspective - I should point out that I loved him - and still do - so much. I tried. Oh God I tried...I tried to be important. I tried to be what he expected as, also, I was raised to be. I went into my relationship with him intellectually - as did he - and somewhere in the middle of it, we decided to go deeper and we did.
I did, anyway. I can't speak for him.
I opened up like I never have before. I shared more than I have ever shared with anyone. I was terrified.
But this place - this man - was the wrong place, wrong man. Wrong venue. Wrong everything.
Things like I've gone through don't happen in pretty white houses with blue shutters and picket fences so sharing my truth, my experiences, my pain and my disorders was too much for him. On some level I get that. In fact, on some level...in some part of me, I kind of expected it. Nobody, I suppose (or, at least, nobody like him) should be expected to understand what I was going through.
Still, I hoped. I wanted to marry him. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
I'm not "over it" and won't be for a long time. Sharing such deep, hidden wounds with someone for the first time, only to go through what I went through with him, caused some serious damage to me.
But I love him still. I miss his scent. I miss how he (almost) always woke up in a good mood. I miss how he misspeaks words because of his Italian heritage. I miss his hands.
I miss him.
My intention in sharing my story is not to trash him or anyone. I hope this comes across loud and clear.
I sometimes have angry blogs, yes, but I am human and writing is my venue. I don't know how to speak - yet.
But I will one day.
And I'm sure one day, I will look back on this whole thing and be able to pluck from it, things I've learned...things I can take away from it. But for now, I am beyond hurt. Just crushed. Promises are important to me and many, many promises were broken. A lot of trust was betrayed.
I've never claimed to be an angel and I've publicly aired my own transgressions. I just never posted them on FB but they're there. For example, My Current Truth is my blog about how horrible I felt.....what a monster I felt like as he was doing "his thing."
I felt like a monster, an outcast, some kind of ....trash as he told me the things he told me he was telling others. Nothing and nobody could hurt me more than myself, beating myself up.
Even today, I had a "friend" beat me up over an incident that happened during this time.
It's my hope that in the end, I'll be able to show my face again and not be afraid. But as for love....as for relationships.... I understand I must first heal myself.
My blog is one piece of that.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Oh the Irony (lesson learned)
My name is Cristina D. Johnson
I wrote "It's All About Image" yesterday and - at the time - it felt so damn good to have my say. It felt so good, to tell my side, to share my pain and to elaborate on things that I'm sure were never shared during "his" many nightly escapades.
But one thing I am, is introspective and this morning it occurred to me that by writing that blog, I was doing exactly what I was accusing him of doing: protecting my image.
Even though the blog was sincere and I was sincerely angry and felt betrayed by a number of people, the bigger part of me knows that writing it was wrong and some of the things I said were things I shouldn't have.
The bigger part of me knows things I won't ever repeat about him, and also knows that I loved him - still do - and that's what hurts, but it's easier to just be angry. The truth is, I am still reeling, still stunned, and still devastated. I've been in what they call the "crisis stage" for a little over a year, and having the additional crisis of a break-up on top of it, was literally sickening. My heart was so broken. He'd promised....and broke my trust and it hurt so much and then he left me there, alone, talking to others about me, and the only thing I could do was be angry, although I cried...oh God I cried ...and still do.
So there I was blogging about image, in a vain attempt to protect my own image which, in my mind, is destroyed by the things he said about me to God-only-knows who. I am terrified to go anywhere or see anyone because of the events of the past several weeks and because of the crisis stage I'm already going through.
So in writing "It's All About Image" I was wrong and though it felt good to rid myself of some of the toxicity inside of me that's been eating me alive, it was not really me being true to myself, and honestly it was dishonoring at least some of what was good - there were a few good times. A few.
I am still not convinced that he ever loved me. Perhaps this is my issue, but perhaps it is true that he didn't. I have my own theories on this but he - on a few occasions (though not many) - showed some tenderness and I won't forget that.
But I will never, ever forget how painful the betrayals were, either.
Bare and open - here I am. Hurt beyond words, devastated, crushed and feeling so deeply betrayed and still in love with him - this man who's seeing someone else and who hurt me so deeply in ways he will never fathom.
My image is this: I am afraid and I feel alone, save for a couple of very good people who are helping me through this stage, although I tend to keep things in a lot because it is my tendency to hide. I am disappointed by the number of "friends" who walked away... just gave up... yet I'm not surprised. I am afraid to be seen by anyone, anywhere and I spend a lot of time preoccupied, confused, sometimes triggered, sometimes terrified for reasons I don't understand. I can't look at myself in the mirror - I am ashamed of who I am and how I look and I feel very awkward in social situations so I fake it.
I am so wounded, so hurt...and it all came out as anger in my last blog. I am so scared because I took it upon myself to tell everyone on FB about my story - at least in brief - and took the risk of sharing. The fear of that- fear of rejection and humiliation and judgment - is very, very big. So my image is out there....here I am.
I wrote "It's All About Image" yesterday and - at the time - it felt so damn good to have my say. It felt so good, to tell my side, to share my pain and to elaborate on things that I'm sure were never shared during "his" many nightly escapades.
But one thing I am, is introspective and this morning it occurred to me that by writing that blog, I was doing exactly what I was accusing him of doing: protecting my image.
Even though the blog was sincere and I was sincerely angry and felt betrayed by a number of people, the bigger part of me knows that writing it was wrong and some of the things I said were things I shouldn't have.
The bigger part of me knows things I won't ever repeat about him, and also knows that I loved him - still do - and that's what hurts, but it's easier to just be angry. The truth is, I am still reeling, still stunned, and still devastated. I've been in what they call the "crisis stage" for a little over a year, and having the additional crisis of a break-up on top of it, was literally sickening. My heart was so broken. He'd promised....and broke my trust and it hurt so much and then he left me there, alone, talking to others about me, and the only thing I could do was be angry, although I cried...oh God I cried ...and still do.
So there I was blogging about image, in a vain attempt to protect my own image which, in my mind, is destroyed by the things he said about me to God-only-knows who. I am terrified to go anywhere or see anyone because of the events of the past several weeks and because of the crisis stage I'm already going through.
So in writing "It's All About Image" I was wrong and though it felt good to rid myself of some of the toxicity inside of me that's been eating me alive, it was not really me being true to myself, and honestly it was dishonoring at least some of what was good - there were a few good times. A few.
I am still not convinced that he ever loved me. Perhaps this is my issue, but perhaps it is true that he didn't. I have my own theories on this but he - on a few occasions (though not many) - showed some tenderness and I won't forget that.
But I will never, ever forget how painful the betrayals were, either.
Bare and open - here I am. Hurt beyond words, devastated, crushed and feeling so deeply betrayed and still in love with him - this man who's seeing someone else and who hurt me so deeply in ways he will never fathom.
My image is this: I am afraid and I feel alone, save for a couple of very good people who are helping me through this stage, although I tend to keep things in a lot because it is my tendency to hide. I am disappointed by the number of "friends" who walked away... just gave up... yet I'm not surprised. I am afraid to be seen by anyone, anywhere and I spend a lot of time preoccupied, confused, sometimes triggered, sometimes terrified for reasons I don't understand. I can't look at myself in the mirror - I am ashamed of who I am and how I look and I feel very awkward in social situations so I fake it.
I am so wounded, so hurt...and it all came out as anger in my last blog. I am so scared because I took it upon myself to tell everyone on FB about my story - at least in brief - and took the risk of sharing. The fear of that- fear of rejection and humiliation and judgment - is very, very big. So my image is out there....here I am.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
It's All About Image
My name is Cristina D. Johnson
This is an angry blog. Just a forewarning.
Woke up this morning with text messages from "him" - bouncing back and forth between being nice and being an ass. I was immediately triggered.
I have never, ever in my entire life had a single human being trigger me as instantaneously as he does.
I know why that is, too.
For about eight weeks, we were still living together. We would bounce back and forth between deciding whether or not to work it out, or whether or not splitting was the best choice. He would say, "You're the one who said you were done," never realizing he made it impossible for me to stay.
Then...he would go out. Not only would he go out, but he would tell people my private business. I was horrified beyond belief. I couldn't believe he would betray my trust - my deepest trust - in such a way. But he was very clever about it. He "told just a few people" (which means anyone, really) knowing damned good and well that these towns talk - everyone talks. Never using any common sense or decency, always without regard for my own dignity.
Oh God how it hurt. I've been writing my entire life and I can't think of a single word (or set of words) that can adequately describe the pain I was going through. The lies he told me - how he misled me about the wedding and instead took my "friend" "L" (who, incidentally is apparently not much of a friend since she hasn't even once contacted me to see how I'm doing. Instead she hangs out on his boat or goes out with him). He made me feel like the lowest form of life by telling me lies, and then going behind my back. He blew things out of proportion, made himself look like a super hero and divulged everything from my issues to my financial situation to people whose business it was none of, nor was it his right to do so. Especially to an incest survivor. OH MY GOD the things I'd shared!! I was beyond terrified. And nobody checked on me. They just took his word for it - poor, poor him. The victim, the savior. Oh he made himself look like the real hero and me...well I was just nothing. As I always had been.
I attempted suicide. I was in crisis. It's not uncommon for people with my disorders. Neither is a lot of stuff - cutting, binging, drinking, drugs, etc. but the triggering...Dear God, every night he would trigger me, telling me he was going out, knowing it would trigger me and then carelessly walking away.
(Definition: Anything that brings about a symptom of PTSD. For example, a news story about the Iraq War may cause a veteran with PTSD to have thoughts and memories about the war. Triggers may include people, places, sounds, words, and/or smells. Source: http://ptsd.about.com/od/glossary/g/triggerdef.htm)
That about sums it up.
Being abandoned, being cheated on, being lied to, being talked about behind my back and then being told - when I asked - no, begged - him to please stop talking about me.
"You're just trying to control who I talk to and what I say," he would respond angrily. "It's my life."
"No, it's my information and my private business that I'm asking you not to share."
"It's none of your goddamn business who I talk to or what I say," he said one night.
He would say and do things, knowing they were going to trigger me and when the panic attacks came on, he would causally walk away, go out to his van, and go party - pretending his life was perfect as I sat alone in the house, mortified, horrified, embarrassed to be seen by anyone.
That was one of the most insidious aspects of his telling people (and of him telling me that people were talking about me): He never would tell me who he told what, and who said what so I was there, like a nothing. I had no importance, ever. I was nothing....just something to gossip about and he being him, would do all he could to protect his image. Because, after all, it's all about image.
He's not the person people think he is. He went out and made himself out to be a victim - which, in a way, he was; a secondary victim of my abuse and at times of my own verbal abuse.
When he would trigger me, I would become irrationally angry. Actually, it was profound pain that was misplaced (being triggered brings back feelings, memories, sensations, etc. from your past) and the only way I knew to react was by anger because that's what happens when you grow up on the streets: you fight.
I was also living in complete disbelief. How could someone who said they loved me, do this to me? How could he? I wasn't unreasonable - I was trying to get out as soon as I possibly could because it hurt to be there - but I asked him to please, please just wait until I'm gone before you start going out. Please.
Nope.
So it got to the point where even hearing his footsteps or his early-morning coughing was sending shockwaves through my body. I was uncontrollably triggered and stuck.
"You can go out if you want," he would say, never considering how mortified I was that he told everyone my personal business. He even told people he fixed my car for me, never divulging the fact that it was OUR car and it broke down because of OUR use and should have been fixed at least a year ago. It just so happened to be in my name. So he made sure he looked good. Made sure everyone knew how much he loved me.
We can see that now, can't we? As he takes his new gf out on his fancy boat (which he cannot afford)? Yeah he loved me alright.
No....if love bit him twice in the ass he wouldn't know what it was.
Because, for him, when love gets complicated, it's too much.
So then he starts accusing me of being violent. Violent because I would grab the front of his shirt and cry and plead and beg, "Why are you leaving me? You said you wouldn't leave me! Why are you giving up on me!? You said you never would leave me!" ...this, is violence, for which he would call the cops on me if I ever did it again. (another huge trigger of mine, btw, being a child of the system - and a trigger he's well aware of).
In this morning's text messages, he flipped back and forth between being nice and being not-so-nice, even with a veiled threat about how if [my blog] begins to effect him, he'll handle it then.
Well, here I am - being real. Spread out wide open, everyone knows my secrets and my sins. Everyone knows my shame, now, because I chose to tell it - not because someone with no morals or sense of loyalty decided to spread it around. Because for me, it's no longer all about image.
It's about being real - and I'm being real.
Nothing in my blog is a lie, distortion or exaggeration.
I was so thrown off today just by his text messages this morning that the entire day was a trigger until I was exhausted.
I laid down and fell asleep, only to have a nightmare about him. Him and his brother.
They were being so cruel in my dream - heartless, cruel, vicious.
Control. Image.
It's all about that, isn't it?
Image?
What a fool I was to fall into that trap - to drown myself in this pool of high fa-looting, the-world-is-my-oyster, pretending to be someone and something I wasn't. And why? To live up to his expectations?
Well, who the hell is HE? A cheater, a liar, a fake? And *I* was trying to live up to HIS expectations?
But when the going got tough and I needed him more than anything in the world, he fled - to another woman (which he admitted to, but now denies) and is now seeing, (surely just coincidence).
Then...out of nowhere, came friends and supporters - people who aren't so obsessed with their image. People who've either been there or understand or want to help or want to be friends with me or want to help me.
I discovered in this process - this process of coming out and telling my truth and being real- who my friends truly are. Painfully, I also learned who, among those I've known for five years now, are not.
I could go on and talk about the REAL person I know - the reality of his life but he has to live with himself. He must be exhausted - just like I was - holding up such a fake facade, living up to others' expectations, trying to be something he isn't.
But unlike him - I have empathy. I pity him, despite the fact that he is the single most biggest trigger of any person ever in my life. I have never, ever been triggered by anyone as much as him - mostly because of the deliberate and intentional pain he put me through. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Wonderful. Oh but if people only knew the truth...
This is the end of my angry blog and I must say that in the past five years I've met two amazing people - R & R - father and daughter. Dad R is so authentic and lovely, wonderful and fantastic and daughter R is the same. To them I say: I miss you. I always authentically loved you both.
This is an angry blog. Just a forewarning.
Woke up this morning with text messages from "him" - bouncing back and forth between being nice and being an ass. I was immediately triggered.
I have never, ever in my entire life had a single human being trigger me as instantaneously as he does.
I know why that is, too.
For about eight weeks, we were still living together. We would bounce back and forth between deciding whether or not to work it out, or whether or not splitting was the best choice. He would say, "You're the one who said you were done," never realizing he made it impossible for me to stay.
Then...he would go out. Not only would he go out, but he would tell people my private business. I was horrified beyond belief. I couldn't believe he would betray my trust - my deepest trust - in such a way. But he was very clever about it. He "told just a few people" (which means anyone, really) knowing damned good and well that these towns talk - everyone talks. Never using any common sense or decency, always without regard for my own dignity.
Oh God how it hurt. I've been writing my entire life and I can't think of a single word (or set of words) that can adequately describe the pain I was going through. The lies he told me - how he misled me about the wedding and instead took my "friend" "L" (who, incidentally is apparently not much of a friend since she hasn't even once contacted me to see how I'm doing. Instead she hangs out on his boat or goes out with him). He made me feel like the lowest form of life by telling me lies, and then going behind my back. He blew things out of proportion, made himself look like a super hero and divulged everything from my issues to my financial situation to people whose business it was none of, nor was it his right to do so. Especially to an incest survivor. OH MY GOD the things I'd shared!! I was beyond terrified. And nobody checked on me. They just took his word for it - poor, poor him. The victim, the savior. Oh he made himself look like the real hero and me...well I was just nothing. As I always had been.
I attempted suicide. I was in crisis. It's not uncommon for people with my disorders. Neither is a lot of stuff - cutting, binging, drinking, drugs, etc. but the triggering...Dear God, every night he would trigger me, telling me he was going out, knowing it would trigger me and then carelessly walking away.
(Definition: Anything that brings about a symptom of PTSD. For example, a news story about the Iraq War may cause a veteran with PTSD to have thoughts and memories about the war. Triggers may include people, places, sounds, words, and/or smells. Source: http://ptsd.about.com/od/glossary/g/triggerdef.htm)
That about sums it up.
Being abandoned, being cheated on, being lied to, being talked about behind my back and then being told - when I asked - no, begged - him to please stop talking about me.
"You're just trying to control who I talk to and what I say," he would respond angrily. "It's my life."
"No, it's my information and my private business that I'm asking you not to share."
"It's none of your goddamn business who I talk to or what I say," he said one night.
He would say and do things, knowing they were going to trigger me and when the panic attacks came on, he would causally walk away, go out to his van, and go party - pretending his life was perfect as I sat alone in the house, mortified, horrified, embarrassed to be seen by anyone.
That was one of the most insidious aspects of his telling people (and of him telling me that people were talking about me): He never would tell me who he told what, and who said what so I was there, like a nothing. I had no importance, ever. I was nothing....just something to gossip about and he being him, would do all he could to protect his image. Because, after all, it's all about image.
He's not the person people think he is. He went out and made himself out to be a victim - which, in a way, he was; a secondary victim of my abuse and at times of my own verbal abuse.
When he would trigger me, I would become irrationally angry. Actually, it was profound pain that was misplaced (being triggered brings back feelings, memories, sensations, etc. from your past) and the only way I knew to react was by anger because that's what happens when you grow up on the streets: you fight.
I was also living in complete disbelief. How could someone who said they loved me, do this to me? How could he? I wasn't unreasonable - I was trying to get out as soon as I possibly could because it hurt to be there - but I asked him to please, please just wait until I'm gone before you start going out. Please.
Nope.
So it got to the point where even hearing his footsteps or his early-morning coughing was sending shockwaves through my body. I was uncontrollably triggered and stuck.
"You can go out if you want," he would say, never considering how mortified I was that he told everyone my personal business. He even told people he fixed my car for me, never divulging the fact that it was OUR car and it broke down because of OUR use and should have been fixed at least a year ago. It just so happened to be in my name. So he made sure he looked good. Made sure everyone knew how much he loved me.
We can see that now, can't we? As he takes his new gf out on his fancy boat (which he cannot afford)? Yeah he loved me alright.
No....if love bit him twice in the ass he wouldn't know what it was.
Because, for him, when love gets complicated, it's too much.
So then he starts accusing me of being violent. Violent because I would grab the front of his shirt and cry and plead and beg, "Why are you leaving me? You said you wouldn't leave me! Why are you giving up on me!? You said you never would leave me!" ...this, is violence, for which he would call the cops on me if I ever did it again. (another huge trigger of mine, btw, being a child of the system - and a trigger he's well aware of).
In this morning's text messages, he flipped back and forth between being nice and being not-so-nice, even with a veiled threat about how if [my blog] begins to effect him, he'll handle it then.
Well, here I am - being real. Spread out wide open, everyone knows my secrets and my sins. Everyone knows my shame, now, because I chose to tell it - not because someone with no morals or sense of loyalty decided to spread it around. Because for me, it's no longer all about image.
It's about being real - and I'm being real.
Nothing in my blog is a lie, distortion or exaggeration.
I was so thrown off today just by his text messages this morning that the entire day was a trigger until I was exhausted.
I laid down and fell asleep, only to have a nightmare about him. Him and his brother.
They were being so cruel in my dream - heartless, cruel, vicious.
Control. Image.
It's all about that, isn't it?
Image?
What a fool I was to fall into that trap - to drown myself in this pool of high fa-looting, the-world-is-my-oyster, pretending to be someone and something I wasn't. And why? To live up to his expectations?
Well, who the hell is HE? A cheater, a liar, a fake? And *I* was trying to live up to HIS expectations?
But when the going got tough and I needed him more than anything in the world, he fled - to another woman (which he admitted to, but now denies) and is now seeing, (surely just coincidence).
Then...out of nowhere, came friends and supporters - people who aren't so obsessed with their image. People who've either been there or understand or want to help or want to be friends with me or want to help me.
I discovered in this process - this process of coming out and telling my truth and being real- who my friends truly are. Painfully, I also learned who, among those I've known for five years now, are not.
I could go on and talk about the REAL person I know - the reality of his life but he has to live with himself. He must be exhausted - just like I was - holding up such a fake facade, living up to others' expectations, trying to be something he isn't.
But unlike him - I have empathy. I pity him, despite the fact that he is the single most biggest trigger of any person ever in my life. I have never, ever been triggered by anyone as much as him - mostly because of the deliberate and intentional pain he put me through. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Wonderful. Oh but if people only knew the truth...
This is the end of my angry blog and I must say that in the past five years I've met two amazing people - R & R - father and daughter. Dad R is so authentic and lovely, wonderful and fantastic and daughter R is the same. To them I say: I miss you. I always authentically loved you both.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Grieving A Break-Up
I suppose we all grieve differently.
I've been grieving for weeks over this break-up. Crying - sobbing. Avoiding. Numbing. Rage. Denying. Trying to change it.
And finally acceptance, but not without some strong feelings of betrayal and questions of why.
He says he has to go through the grieving process after I'm gone. I suppose... although I told him it just seems like he wants me to be gone...will be happy when I am out.
That's how it comes across, anyway.
Weeks of watching him go out and party and talk with friends...share my intimate details...while I sat here or at my sitting spot, grieving - even being chastised for it.
But I've grieved and I don't even think I'm done yet.
A friend asked me if she thought we would ever get back together and I said that I didn't know... the one thing I can't get past is the walking away when I needed him most. Giving up so quickly, saying and doing all the wrong things to someone (me) who needed so much patience and compassion.
Of course, I made my mistakes too, but my friends assure me (as does my therapist) that these "mistakes" are part of my healing process.
They say divorce is the second most stressful thing to go through in life; second only to someone dying. I disagree with that. I've been through divorce.
Going through the process of healing from incest and rape is by far the most painful thing I've ever done. Accepting my diagnoses; looking inside at myself; And even though I have friends that are helping me, I still feel this sense of alone-ness; like I can't burden them. It's kind of like, "Just let me do this work and you'll see the outcome...I'm afraid for anyone to see."
We move - my son and I - this weekend, to our new place. I am petrified and excited; hurt and elated; nervous and confident; hopeful but so, so angry at myself for being a failure... for never being enough. For letting him down.
Blaming myself. Cursing myself for sharing so much - too much - of myself. I should have known better. I never should have let my guard down; never should have expected him to be able to handle the stress and pain that comes from this process. I cringe when I think of the secrets I've told him, knowing he's told so many people about so much of my personal life. I absolutely die inside, wishing I'd never uttered a word.
It's easy to blame the girl who cuts and suffers from suicide ideation who's in therapy and on medications. It's easy to blame the one with the obvious problems. And it's perfectly rational that she would grieve in the ways she does....right? No....not right. I grieved the loss of him with words of anger and betrayal. Utter disbelief. And even envy.
I blame myself for this... this guttural reaction to the pain I was going through. Oh God the agony of being so fucked up that he can't even love you... nobody can, especially now. Now that everyone knows. Everyone knows. I am so ashamed.
Is that part of grieving? Being ashamed?
My emotions are all over the place, although - because the move-in date is nearer - my energy is picking up and I'm feeling a little more hopeful, my emotions are still so crazy.
So much I wish I could change.
So much that I know will change.
I've been grieving for weeks over this break-up. Crying - sobbing. Avoiding. Numbing. Rage. Denying. Trying to change it.
And finally acceptance, but not without some strong feelings of betrayal and questions of why.
He says he has to go through the grieving process after I'm gone. I suppose... although I told him it just seems like he wants me to be gone...will be happy when I am out.
That's how it comes across, anyway.
Weeks of watching him go out and party and talk with friends...share my intimate details...while I sat here or at my sitting spot, grieving - even being chastised for it.
But I've grieved and I don't even think I'm done yet.
A friend asked me if she thought we would ever get back together and I said that I didn't know... the one thing I can't get past is the walking away when I needed him most. Giving up so quickly, saying and doing all the wrong things to someone (me) who needed so much patience and compassion.
Of course, I made my mistakes too, but my friends assure me (as does my therapist) that these "mistakes" are part of my healing process.
They say divorce is the second most stressful thing to go through in life; second only to someone dying. I disagree with that. I've been through divorce.
Going through the process of healing from incest and rape is by far the most painful thing I've ever done. Accepting my diagnoses; looking inside at myself; And even though I have friends that are helping me, I still feel this sense of alone-ness; like I can't burden them. It's kind of like, "Just let me do this work and you'll see the outcome...I'm afraid for anyone to see."
We move - my son and I - this weekend, to our new place. I am petrified and excited; hurt and elated; nervous and confident; hopeful but so, so angry at myself for being a failure... for never being enough. For letting him down.
Blaming myself. Cursing myself for sharing so much - too much - of myself. I should have known better. I never should have let my guard down; never should have expected him to be able to handle the stress and pain that comes from this process. I cringe when I think of the secrets I've told him, knowing he's told so many people about so much of my personal life. I absolutely die inside, wishing I'd never uttered a word.
It's easy to blame the girl who cuts and suffers from suicide ideation who's in therapy and on medications. It's easy to blame the one with the obvious problems. And it's perfectly rational that she would grieve in the ways she does....right? No....not right. I grieved the loss of him with words of anger and betrayal. Utter disbelief. And even envy.
I blame myself for this... this guttural reaction to the pain I was going through. Oh God the agony of being so fucked up that he can't even love you... nobody can, especially now. Now that everyone knows. Everyone knows. I am so ashamed.
Is that part of grieving? Being ashamed?
My emotions are all over the place, although - because the move-in date is nearer - my energy is picking up and I'm feeling a little more hopeful, my emotions are still so crazy.
So much I wish I could change.
So much that I know will change.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Why Do Trauma Survivors Push People Away?
There's more than one answer to this question.
Sometimes it's self-protection...keeping people from seeing the "real you" - the "you" that you see yourself to be, which (particularly for incest and rape victims) is usually something bad, dirty and unworthy. They keep you at arm's length, to prevent you from leaving them. The more superficial and "chummy" they can keep it, the safer they are that you won't leave them. Often they'll do things for you, too, without expecting anything in return, to help fortify that you won't leave them.
Sometimes it's not pushing you away, but testing you. I test a lot. I test everyone, always. My friend recently pointed this out to me. I guess sometimes I push people away but usually those are the ones who fail my "tests" which can be very simple - tests of integrity and trustworthiness. And not just one test, but many, before I open the door a crack.
And sometimes it's to protect you - the friend, family member, partner or supporter - from seeing their reality. The reality of complex trauma is an ugly thing - very ugly. And once you (a trauma survivor) reach a point of vulnerability in a relationship, the concept of that person seeing the "real you" is terrifying and opens up all kinds of windows and doors - many that have been shut for their whole lifetime. This is an absolutely horrifying experience because you (the survivor) don't know if the supporter will (a) be able to handle it or (b) walk away and say they can't handle it so the best option is to just protect you from seeing it at all. Rejection after revealing such painful things, would be painful beyond words.
Pushing people away is almost a way of life for me, although most of the time I push those away that I am closest to, ironically. Everyone else I just keep on a superficial level. I don't do chit-chat which means my social life is pretty dull and solitary. I don't mind....but yet I do.
I envy those who can just go out and ...I don't know, fake it? I used to be able to do that. Put on a happy face, pretend my trauma never happened. But because of the nature of my five-year relationship, some doors were opened that I cannot close. It's like opening a closet door that's crammed full of stuff and once you crack it open, you can't push it back shut, and stuff just keeps coming out. Horrible, embarrassing, mortifying, terrifying stuff. Monsters. Memories. Rage. Pain.
Nothing within that closet I want to see, never mind wanting anyone else to see it.
So for me - in my opinion - these are some of the reasons trauma survivors push people away. I bet there's more, but in my experience, this has been it.
Sometimes it's self-protection...keeping people from seeing the "real you" - the "you" that you see yourself to be, which (particularly for incest and rape victims) is usually something bad, dirty and unworthy. They keep you at arm's length, to prevent you from leaving them. The more superficial and "chummy" they can keep it, the safer they are that you won't leave them. Often they'll do things for you, too, without expecting anything in return, to help fortify that you won't leave them.
Sometimes it's not pushing you away, but testing you. I test a lot. I test everyone, always. My friend recently pointed this out to me. I guess sometimes I push people away but usually those are the ones who fail my "tests" which can be very simple - tests of integrity and trustworthiness. And not just one test, but many, before I open the door a crack.
And sometimes it's to protect you - the friend, family member, partner or supporter - from seeing their reality. The reality of complex trauma is an ugly thing - very ugly. And once you (a trauma survivor) reach a point of vulnerability in a relationship, the concept of that person seeing the "real you" is terrifying and opens up all kinds of windows and doors - many that have been shut for their whole lifetime. This is an absolutely horrifying experience because you (the survivor) don't know if the supporter will (a) be able to handle it or (b) walk away and say they can't handle it so the best option is to just protect you from seeing it at all. Rejection after revealing such painful things, would be painful beyond words.
Pushing people away is almost a way of life for me, although most of the time I push those away that I am closest to, ironically. Everyone else I just keep on a superficial level. I don't do chit-chat which means my social life is pretty dull and solitary. I don't mind....but yet I do.
I envy those who can just go out and ...I don't know, fake it? I used to be able to do that. Put on a happy face, pretend my trauma never happened. But because of the nature of my five-year relationship, some doors were opened that I cannot close. It's like opening a closet door that's crammed full of stuff and once you crack it open, you can't push it back shut, and stuff just keeps coming out. Horrible, embarrassing, mortifying, terrifying stuff. Monsters. Memories. Rage. Pain.
Nothing within that closet I want to see, never mind wanting anyone else to see it.
So for me - in my opinion - these are some of the reasons trauma survivors push people away. I bet there's more, but in my experience, this has been it.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Warped Love
I talked with my therapist yesterday about love. About my warped sense of love. About how I don't understand it. How I can love others, but never believe anyone loves me. I don't think this is uncommon among incest survivors.
It came up because I was willing to do anything to make Gary love me - the same as with my father...and I did. As he molested me, I was making him love me, even if it hurt me.
I told her, during my many rapes, I would somehow fantasize that each man would look into my crying eyes and decide that he loved me. This only compounds my shame. Wanting to be loved by my rapists.
This was reinforced so many times, I cannot count.
So now, it's no wonder that I'll do, be, say, act and otherwise show anything I can, just to be loved.
And it's always aimed at men - always has been. Never women or friends; they can't "love" me like ...well, you know. I suppose this is because it started in my formative years with my father.
I know, intellectually, that I have to learn to love myself. This seems like such a monumental task. Huge.
I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to look myself in the mirror and say, "You're beautiful and I love you." I don't know how to think of myself in terms of self-love - how could someone who's done the things I've done, possibly love herself, whoever "herself" is?
So, instead of looking inside for that love, I've always looked outside which just leads to more reinforcement of how unlovable I am.
Gary's rejection; Her rejection; Everyone's rejection (because of Gary telling everyone about it) just reinforces how unlovable I am because there's no love inside myself for me.
Just this self-loathing. Disgust. Shame. Guilt.
Oh my God the shame - that word again. It creeps up almost every blog.
I suppose feeling it and being aware of it are steps towards healing but what a God-awful feeling. Like someone's ripped your bones right from your body and you're nothing but an empty, deflated shell.
The constant barrages of being put down or hurt by him, leads to those text messages I've blogged about. The betrayal I see, I don't know how to respond except in anger because he's telling me - again, in my language - that I don't matter and I am unlovable. I do get bitterly defensive and angry and say things I would normally never say. It's totally a defense mechanism. It's saying, "Fuck you! I won't let you have this power over me! I'm going to hurt you as bad as you're hurting me!!"
Yesterday my therapist explained that he is not the kind of person I need in my life right now. I need people who are understanding, patient, compassionate, loving and supportive. Not the kind of people who do the things that Gary is doing. Heartless things. Careless, reckless things.
She is right.
I deserve better. I deserve these things.
But where do I begin?
It came up because I was willing to do anything to make Gary love me - the same as with my father...and I did. As he molested me, I was making him love me, even if it hurt me.
I told her, during my many rapes, I would somehow fantasize that each man would look into my crying eyes and decide that he loved me. This only compounds my shame. Wanting to be loved by my rapists.
This was reinforced so many times, I cannot count.
So now, it's no wonder that I'll do, be, say, act and otherwise show anything I can, just to be loved.
And it's always aimed at men - always has been. Never women or friends; they can't "love" me like ...well, you know. I suppose this is because it started in my formative years with my father.
I know, intellectually, that I have to learn to love myself. This seems like such a monumental task. Huge.
I don't know how to do it. I don't know how to look myself in the mirror and say, "You're beautiful and I love you." I don't know how to think of myself in terms of self-love - how could someone who's done the things I've done, possibly love herself, whoever "herself" is?
So, instead of looking inside for that love, I've always looked outside which just leads to more reinforcement of how unlovable I am.
Gary's rejection; Her rejection; Everyone's rejection (because of Gary telling everyone about it) just reinforces how unlovable I am because there's no love inside myself for me.
Just this self-loathing. Disgust. Shame. Guilt.
Oh my God the shame - that word again. It creeps up almost every blog.
I suppose feeling it and being aware of it are steps towards healing but what a God-awful feeling. Like someone's ripped your bones right from your body and you're nothing but an empty, deflated shell.
The constant barrages of being put down or hurt by him, leads to those text messages I've blogged about. The betrayal I see, I don't know how to respond except in anger because he's telling me - again, in my language - that I don't matter and I am unlovable. I do get bitterly defensive and angry and say things I would normally never say. It's totally a defense mechanism. It's saying, "Fuck you! I won't let you have this power over me! I'm going to hurt you as bad as you're hurting me!!"
Yesterday my therapist explained that he is not the kind of person I need in my life right now. I need people who are understanding, patient, compassionate, loving and supportive. Not the kind of people who do the things that Gary is doing. Heartless things. Careless, reckless things.
She is right.
I deserve better. I deserve these things.
But where do I begin?
Friday, July 6, 2012
Changes
Yesterday morning, we talked - had a good talk, actually, although - again - my issues were thrown in my face, he kept saying he wasn't trying to shame me. I cried and he cried. He even said the day I move out will be one of the hardest days of his life. We talked about not wanting the relationship to end, but he felt it must. Thought it was what was best for me.
As he got up to leave, he hugged me, kissed the top of my head and went upstairs to go to work.
I was just sitting there, crying, thinking about everything that had been said, wondering why I am more willing to forgive than him.
I went to the store, bought a six-pack, and went to my sitting spot. I didn't even want to drink - not at all. Wasn't in the mood, was just hurting.
I texted him as much - told him I didn't want to drink. He said to pour it out and do something different. I asked him why we couldn't work it out...told him if we can't work through the tough times, how could we ever be a couple. Told him people who've been together for 50 and 60 years didn't quit during the hard times. Promised I would do things differently, if he would do the same. He was relatively amenable and I started to think a lot differently.
Started to think about the easy changes I could make - drinking being one of them. I don't need to drink, don't crave it, just drink to numb.
So I poured it out. I did something different. I came home, laid down and took a nap. When I awoke, I started dinner. He was in the shower.
I was excited, actually, because I thought we reached a different place; a place of reconciliation where we might be able to work through these issues we're both having.
I was also proud of myself for choosing something different. To me, it was like a small token of my commitment - a literal gift to show him how serious I was about working through it.
As I cooked dinner, he went upstairs. I could hear him up there. I wondered if he had an appointment with his therapist, but then noted the time - too late for that, so maybe he's just getting dressed.
Dinner was almost done when he came downstairs. Dressed to go out, cologne and all.
"I'm making dinner for you guys," I said to him, half-heartrboken, half-hopeful.
"I wish I'd known," he answered. "I ate at 4:30 and I'm not hungry."
I just looked at him.
He said: "I'm going down to the marina and then I'll probably go to [the bar] afterwards."
It sunk into my heart like a knife.
"So I guess I'm the only one who's supposed to do things differently?" I ask.
I began to cry. Chin-shaking, heart-aching cry. I had felt so good to do something different and so hopeful...
so hopeful....
"You just don't want me to have a life," he said to me at one point.
I could have just died.
I felt so rejected. So abandoned...again. Mocked. I was giving something - a small step, small token - only to have it thrown back in my face. I felt ridiculous, like a fool.
I cried out the door as he left, "You're wrong! You're so wrong!"
And then I sobbed and sobbed for awhile in my room.
I cleaned myself up, fed Trevor.
Grabbed my cooler and headed to my spot.
I sat there on the dock....so cool, so peaceful. I was so devastated that he wouldn't even try. Wouldn't even discuss trying.
I had my bottle of water with me, and I sat there drinking it. A kayaker went by, waved. I waved back.
Somehow it made me think - seeing this kayaker - that drinking isn't what I want to do, not at all. I had at least a six-pack with me and I could've but I just didn't want it.
I sat at my spot for about 30 minutes and then came home. Originally, I had texted him saying, "Well, I guess I'll just do the same thing you're doing, then." (something like that). But then I texted him and told him I wasn't going to drink tonight, that I don't want to and that I was merely telling him for the sheer joy of telling him.
Which is true - I didn't tell him to try and change his mind because I'd already decided - the moment he walked out the door - that I deserve better. I deserve to be treated fairly, instead of constantly put down and shamed. (I know there's one person that'll probably read this and be like, "Thank God!" because she wants nothing more than to see Gary and I stay split up).
Yeah, I told him almost to just rub it in his face....to say it's not for him, it's for me and he can have "his life" all he wants.
I came home, watched a movie (The Preacher's Wife....was good), and then a couple other t.v. shows. By midnight, I was tired and he still wasn't home. I knew where he was and who he was with, but I just didn't care.
I just don't care anymore.
Someone who wanted to work it out, would do something different than he did last night.
Just like I did.
I didn't drink at all... and it felt good.
As he got up to leave, he hugged me, kissed the top of my head and went upstairs to go to work.
I was just sitting there, crying, thinking about everything that had been said, wondering why I am more willing to forgive than him.
I went to the store, bought a six-pack, and went to my sitting spot. I didn't even want to drink - not at all. Wasn't in the mood, was just hurting.
I texted him as much - told him I didn't want to drink. He said to pour it out and do something different. I asked him why we couldn't work it out...told him if we can't work through the tough times, how could we ever be a couple. Told him people who've been together for 50 and 60 years didn't quit during the hard times. Promised I would do things differently, if he would do the same. He was relatively amenable and I started to think a lot differently.
Started to think about the easy changes I could make - drinking being one of them. I don't need to drink, don't crave it, just drink to numb.
So I poured it out. I did something different. I came home, laid down and took a nap. When I awoke, I started dinner. He was in the shower.
I was excited, actually, because I thought we reached a different place; a place of reconciliation where we might be able to work through these issues we're both having.
I was also proud of myself for choosing something different. To me, it was like a small token of my commitment - a literal gift to show him how serious I was about working through it.
As I cooked dinner, he went upstairs. I could hear him up there. I wondered if he had an appointment with his therapist, but then noted the time - too late for that, so maybe he's just getting dressed.
Dinner was almost done when he came downstairs. Dressed to go out, cologne and all.
"I'm making dinner for you guys," I said to him, half-heartrboken, half-hopeful.
"I wish I'd known," he answered. "I ate at 4:30 and I'm not hungry."
I just looked at him.
He said: "I'm going down to the marina and then I'll probably go to [the bar] afterwards."
It sunk into my heart like a knife.
"So I guess I'm the only one who's supposed to do things differently?" I ask.
I began to cry. Chin-shaking, heart-aching cry. I had felt so good to do something different and so hopeful...
so hopeful....
"You just don't want me to have a life," he said to me at one point.
I could have just died.
I felt so rejected. So abandoned...again. Mocked. I was giving something - a small step, small token - only to have it thrown back in my face. I felt ridiculous, like a fool.
I cried out the door as he left, "You're wrong! You're so wrong!"
And then I sobbed and sobbed for awhile in my room.
I cleaned myself up, fed Trevor.
Grabbed my cooler and headed to my spot.
I sat there on the dock....so cool, so peaceful. I was so devastated that he wouldn't even try. Wouldn't even discuss trying.
I had my bottle of water with me, and I sat there drinking it. A kayaker went by, waved. I waved back.
Somehow it made me think - seeing this kayaker - that drinking isn't what I want to do, not at all. I had at least a six-pack with me and I could've but I just didn't want it.
I sat at my spot for about 30 minutes and then came home. Originally, I had texted him saying, "Well, I guess I'll just do the same thing you're doing, then." (something like that). But then I texted him and told him I wasn't going to drink tonight, that I don't want to and that I was merely telling him for the sheer joy of telling him.
Which is true - I didn't tell him to try and change his mind because I'd already decided - the moment he walked out the door - that I deserve better. I deserve to be treated fairly, instead of constantly put down and shamed. (I know there's one person that'll probably read this and be like, "Thank God!" because she wants nothing more than to see Gary and I stay split up).
Yeah, I told him almost to just rub it in his face....to say it's not for him, it's for me and he can have "his life" all he wants.
I came home, watched a movie (The Preacher's Wife....was good), and then a couple other t.v. shows. By midnight, I was tired and he still wasn't home. I knew where he was and who he was with, but I just didn't care.
I just don't care anymore.
Someone who wanted to work it out, would do something different than he did last night.
Just like I did.
I didn't drink at all... and it felt good.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Possibilities
Right now, I hurt. Being here, in this place, on the birth of the U.S.A. alone in this God forsaken house while he goes out and hangs out with "friends" and has a grand ol' time and I am shunned, shamed...because he told so many people about my private business. I just cannot get over this.
It's absolutely horrible. I can't show my face anywhere. I even went out the back door yesterday to avoid seeing his son and wouldn't come home until they were gone. I'm that ashamed.
Yesterday I went to look at an apartment. It's absolutely lovely and I really, really hope I get it. The landlady was fantastic and the way she described the neighbor (it's a duplex), I would love her, too. It's in a small town where practically nobody lives (lol) and it's peaceful.
Peace.
I went to therapy yesterday. She told me I was..."different" - "Maybe it's the apartment," she said.
But this led to a discussion about me being dependent.
"I've been dependent my whole life," I confessed.
She nodded.
"I'm terrified. I don't know how to be independent."
"That will come."
I can look back at small points in my life where I was independent but they're all like straw houses. It felt good, but it was fake...wasn't really me.
I don't know what this means, really. I have visions in my mind...visions of just wanting to breathe. Just wanting to have the time to do whatever I have to do to get over this. She said it won't ever go away.
It won't ever go away.
I guess I'm afraid of myself, afraid of failing, afraid of everything. Afraid of people, especially now.
Moving out - the possibility - both excites me and saddens me. At least I will be alone, with my son, and won't have to worry about being hurt or mocked or stared at or talked about...well...I guess people will still talk, until the next tragedy comes along. I'll have my space...which I sorely need.
We came to the conclusion yesterday that Gary very likely is a narcissist - that's why he's done the things he's done without regard for the repercussions I would face. It hurts to know that I've known all along, but ignored it. I thought he would change. Still, I love him. Like a fool, I love him. But he's more concerned about his image than anything else.
I actually thought - truly believed - that by being vulnerable and open and letting him see my deepest wounds, he would gain some compassion and realize what empathy was. I believed it would change his perspective on the world and help him look at himself more honestly.
A lot of people around here are narcissists.
Not that I would ever claim to be a saint - I have confessed all my sins and more, here on my blog and to my therapist. I've said "I"m Sorry" so many times, it's crazy. I've owned all my problems and outbursts - at least all the ones I can identify and I will continue to do so.
But I would never just go out and deliberately bash and trash someone to make myself look better. I'm a better person than that. I will never be that way. Not to anyone.
Thank God I have my integrity and I have my aspirations.
I told him (yesterday, I believe) that one day, when I am successful, he's going to look at me and go, "Wow, I used to date her." But by then, I will be a better, stronger person. And he will still be who he is today.
It's absolutely horrible. I can't show my face anywhere. I even went out the back door yesterday to avoid seeing his son and wouldn't come home until they were gone. I'm that ashamed.
Yesterday I went to look at an apartment. It's absolutely lovely and I really, really hope I get it. The landlady was fantastic and the way she described the neighbor (it's a duplex), I would love her, too. It's in a small town where practically nobody lives (lol) and it's peaceful.
Peace.
I went to therapy yesterday. She told me I was..."different" - "Maybe it's the apartment," she said.
But this led to a discussion about me being dependent.
"I've been dependent my whole life," I confessed.
She nodded.
"I'm terrified. I don't know how to be independent."
"That will come."
I can look back at small points in my life where I was independent but they're all like straw houses. It felt good, but it was fake...wasn't really me.
I don't know what this means, really. I have visions in my mind...visions of just wanting to breathe. Just wanting to have the time to do whatever I have to do to get over this. She said it won't ever go away.
It won't ever go away.
I guess I'm afraid of myself, afraid of failing, afraid of everything. Afraid of people, especially now.
Moving out - the possibility - both excites me and saddens me. At least I will be alone, with my son, and won't have to worry about being hurt or mocked or stared at or talked about...well...I guess people will still talk, until the next tragedy comes along. I'll have my space...which I sorely need.
We came to the conclusion yesterday that Gary very likely is a narcissist - that's why he's done the things he's done without regard for the repercussions I would face. It hurts to know that I've known all along, but ignored it. I thought he would change. Still, I love him. Like a fool, I love him. But he's more concerned about his image than anything else.
I actually thought - truly believed - that by being vulnerable and open and letting him see my deepest wounds, he would gain some compassion and realize what empathy was. I believed it would change his perspective on the world and help him look at himself more honestly.
A lot of people around here are narcissists.
Not that I would ever claim to be a saint - I have confessed all my sins and more, here on my blog and to my therapist. I've said "I"m Sorry" so many times, it's crazy. I've owned all my problems and outbursts - at least all the ones I can identify and I will continue to do so.
But I would never just go out and deliberately bash and trash someone to make myself look better. I'm a better person than that. I will never be that way. Not to anyone.
Thank God I have my integrity and I have my aspirations.
I told him (yesterday, I believe) that one day, when I am successful, he's going to look at me and go, "Wow, I used to date her." But by then, I will be a better, stronger person. And he will still be who he is today.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Reluctant Homework
In the book, Resurrection After Rape, (you can download a free pdf of this book by clicking the link) the author, assigns the following homework:
1) If rape is a form of theft, what did it steal?
2) If rape steals something from you, what parts of you are NOT gone?
So I decided, reluctantly, to write it down.
If rape is a form of theft, what did it steal?
It stole my sense of self
It stole my future, what I could have been
It stole my ability to have relationships
it stole my sexuality
it stole my trust
it stole my place in this world
it stole my sense of security
it stole my freedom
it stole my belief in authentic love
it stole my vulnerability
it stole my innocence
it stole my family and any sense of what "family" is
it stole my ability to feel emotions or share them appropriately
it stole my ability to just be myself
it stole my purity
it stole my tears
it stole my voice
it stole my childhood
it stole my happy memories, all my birthdays and Christmases.
It stole my virginity.
It stole my beauty and any sense of self-worth.
It stole my ability to look at myself in the mirror, to dress myself or to fit in anywhere.
It stole my privacy.
If rape steals something from you, what parts of you are NOT gone?
My incest and rapes did not take away my inner strength or determination.
It all strengthened my intuition.
My tenderness
My compassion.
My awareness and alertness.
Willingness to learn and to change.
Willingness to make the world better, somehow.
I am a good mother.
I have patience.
I love deeply and authentically, when I love.
My loyalty and my thoughts and ideas.
I still write, because nothing can take that away from me.
I am acutely empathic.
I am a good teacher and speaker.
So, with all that said, I know there's more. But it's a tender place to touch.
Today, as I was driving home from running errands, I got enraged. Just out of the blue, rageful - it was all aimed at Gary. Started shaking, almost pulled over to take a klonopin. But then I just started crying and the question that kept running through my mind, really applies to both Gary and my father: "Why?" and from there it went directly to my father. "Why did you do that to me? Why did you do this to me?"
The answer comes back to me in my mind, in Gary's voice: "I didn't do anything to you."
Everything is so mixed up... Everything and I just hurt. So confused. So hurt.
I feel alone because of him. I feel alone because, once again, someone couldn't love me. It's not fair to say nobody loves me because there are people who proclaim they do but when he said he didn't love me anymore, the alone-ness hit me like a brick to my stomach. It was like being raped again. Being told to trust, encouraged to heal, open up, do what you have to do...only to be abandoned when it gets ugly. To be judged for the ugly. Ridiculed publicly. Publicly humiliated. My privacy spread out like a billboard. My shame exposed to the entire world.
So my rage - this god awful rage - is aimed at him and those who believe him, when it should be aimed at the man who caused all of this to happen to me: my father. Daddy. And the many other men who used my body and beat me and threw me away.
I understand. I get it. But how do I do it? I feel so alone.
1) If rape is a form of theft, what did it steal?
2) If rape steals something from you, what parts of you are NOT gone?
So I decided, reluctantly, to write it down.
If rape is a form of theft, what did it steal?
It stole my sense of self
It stole my future, what I could have been
It stole my ability to have relationships
it stole my sexuality
it stole my trust
it stole my place in this world
it stole my sense of security
it stole my freedom
it stole my belief in authentic love
it stole my vulnerability
it stole my innocence
it stole my family and any sense of what "family" is
it stole my ability to feel emotions or share them appropriately
it stole my ability to just be myself
it stole my purity
it stole my tears
it stole my voice
it stole my childhood
it stole my happy memories, all my birthdays and Christmases.
It stole my virginity.
It stole my beauty and any sense of self-worth.
It stole my ability to look at myself in the mirror, to dress myself or to fit in anywhere.
It stole my privacy.
If rape steals something from you, what parts of you are NOT gone?
My incest and rapes did not take away my inner strength or determination.
It all strengthened my intuition.
My tenderness
My compassion.
My awareness and alertness.
Willingness to learn and to change.
Willingness to make the world better, somehow.
I am a good mother.
I have patience.
I love deeply and authentically, when I love.
My loyalty and my thoughts and ideas.
I still write, because nothing can take that away from me.
I am acutely empathic.
I am a good teacher and speaker.
So, with all that said, I know there's more. But it's a tender place to touch.
Today, as I was driving home from running errands, I got enraged. Just out of the blue, rageful - it was all aimed at Gary. Started shaking, almost pulled over to take a klonopin. But then I just started crying and the question that kept running through my mind, really applies to both Gary and my father: "Why?" and from there it went directly to my father. "Why did you do that to me? Why did you do this to me?"
The answer comes back to me in my mind, in Gary's voice: "I didn't do anything to you."
Everything is so mixed up... Everything and I just hurt. So confused. So hurt.
I feel alone because of him. I feel alone because, once again, someone couldn't love me. It's not fair to say nobody loves me because there are people who proclaim they do but when he said he didn't love me anymore, the alone-ness hit me like a brick to my stomach. It was like being raped again. Being told to trust, encouraged to heal, open up, do what you have to do...only to be abandoned when it gets ugly. To be judged for the ugly. Ridiculed publicly. Publicly humiliated. My privacy spread out like a billboard. My shame exposed to the entire world.
So my rage - this god awful rage - is aimed at him and those who believe him, when it should be aimed at the man who caused all of this to happen to me: my father. Daddy. And the many other men who used my body and beat me and threw me away.
I understand. I get it. But how do I do it? I feel so alone.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Blowing Smoke
Today, my therapist told me she's not going to "blow smoke up my ass" or "bullshit" me. I like her even more now.
She said this to make sure I knew she's not trying to "dress me up in a pretty dress and send me back out into the world." She said it because of my response to her telling me I am not ugly and I should not be ashamed. My response was, "But I am ashamed and everyone knows and everyone can see it." I told her about my self-realizations today.
We talked about my explosions of rage and she said even if the actions are wrong, the feelings are there and they're neither good nor bad, simply are. Told her I'm so tired of always saying "I'm Sorry" for things that seem to happen out of my control...it's like vomit. I told her I was ashamed of it and that I hate who I am.
She said I don't really know who I am, yet. But we'll get there.
I told her about mine and Gary's conversation this morning. I cried and told her he's right about all of it. He's always right... the shame - God the shame - is so compounded because of the flashback.
"Do you want to tell me about the flashback?"
I kind of told her...kind of.
"The shame is bigger than the world, bigger than me," I cried.
"You were a child," she said. "You had no control."
"BUT I DID IT!" I yelled back, not really knowing where it came from, feeling so, so ashamed - the image so fresh in my mind, I felt I could reach out and touch it. That's how REAL a flashback is.
"You were just a child and to this day you're doing the same thing - you're trying to do what everyone wants you to do."
This made me sob even harder because I'd told her that I told Gary I'd do anything - anything - to work it out because all I wanted, was for him to love me.
I told her about pushing people away. She said most trauma survivors show people their ugly core first, then that way, if the person leaves, it's okay.
"I used to do that," I confessed. "I used to lay it out like a disclaimer. Tell everyone about my past. But I don't do that anymore."
"Then how are you pushing people away?" she asked.
"I don't know," I cried, wracking, sobbing cries. "I don't know. I talk, I buy birthday cards. I'm a good listener. I don't know how I push people away. I don't know what he means."
She said I am probably not pushing people away, but that is his perspective. I told her I do keep people at arm's length - and I do - but that's not pushing them away. Neither, according to her, are these outbursts. They're not pushing people away; they are based on a lifetime of abuse that started as a child and have become a dysfunctional habit of sorts. That's why they're so intense. "You get flooded," she validated. She's absolutely right.
She says I'm like an onion and we have to peel away these layers of abuse and intrusive thoughts that have been built around a beautiful core. She said she can already tell that I am a strong, generous, giving, authentic, compassionate person...going through a crisis. She said, "Most people would have crumbled three weeks ago. You have more strength and courage than you realize yet."
She told me I am functioning as best as I can right now. Even with the drinking - which I told her I agreed with Gary about (and she kind of nodded in agreement) - I told her I realize there are things I need to change but she, recognizing I was criticizing myself, again said: "You are managing the best way you know how, for now. That will change."
She said we'll get to that core, but some people - those like Gary and those who listen to his side of the story without ever even wondering how true it really is or saying they're uncomfortable knowing about my personal history - are not worthy of bearing witness to the peeling of my layers.
She's right.
As the session ended, she searched for a word to best describe me right now. As her blue eyes turned towards the ceiling, she looked back at me and said, "Raw. You are raw right now."
She's right about that, too.
It was an extremely emotional session.
She said this to make sure I knew she's not trying to "dress me up in a pretty dress and send me back out into the world." She said it because of my response to her telling me I am not ugly and I should not be ashamed. My response was, "But I am ashamed and everyone knows and everyone can see it." I told her about my self-realizations today.
We talked about my explosions of rage and she said even if the actions are wrong, the feelings are there and they're neither good nor bad, simply are. Told her I'm so tired of always saying "I'm Sorry" for things that seem to happen out of my control...it's like vomit. I told her I was ashamed of it and that I hate who I am.
She said I don't really know who I am, yet. But we'll get there.
I told her about mine and Gary's conversation this morning. I cried and told her he's right about all of it. He's always right... the shame - God the shame - is so compounded because of the flashback.
"Do you want to tell me about the flashback?"
I kind of told her...kind of.
"The shame is bigger than the world, bigger than me," I cried.
"You were a child," she said. "You had no control."
"BUT I DID IT!" I yelled back, not really knowing where it came from, feeling so, so ashamed - the image so fresh in my mind, I felt I could reach out and touch it. That's how REAL a flashback is.
"You were just a child and to this day you're doing the same thing - you're trying to do what everyone wants you to do."
This made me sob even harder because I'd told her that I told Gary I'd do anything - anything - to work it out because all I wanted, was for him to love me.
I told her about pushing people away. She said most trauma survivors show people their ugly core first, then that way, if the person leaves, it's okay.
"I used to do that," I confessed. "I used to lay it out like a disclaimer. Tell everyone about my past. But I don't do that anymore."
"Then how are you pushing people away?" she asked.
"I don't know," I cried, wracking, sobbing cries. "I don't know. I talk, I buy birthday cards. I'm a good listener. I don't know how I push people away. I don't know what he means."
She said I am probably not pushing people away, but that is his perspective. I told her I do keep people at arm's length - and I do - but that's not pushing them away. Neither, according to her, are these outbursts. They're not pushing people away; they are based on a lifetime of abuse that started as a child and have become a dysfunctional habit of sorts. That's why they're so intense. "You get flooded," she validated. She's absolutely right.
She says I'm like an onion and we have to peel away these layers of abuse and intrusive thoughts that have been built around a beautiful core. She said she can already tell that I am a strong, generous, giving, authentic, compassionate person...going through a crisis. She said, "Most people would have crumbled three weeks ago. You have more strength and courage than you realize yet."
She told me I am functioning as best as I can right now. Even with the drinking - which I told her I agreed with Gary about (and she kind of nodded in agreement) - I told her I realize there are things I need to change but she, recognizing I was criticizing myself, again said: "You are managing the best way you know how, for now. That will change."
She said we'll get to that core, but some people - those like Gary and those who listen to his side of the story without ever even wondering how true it really is or saying they're uncomfortable knowing about my personal history - are not worthy of bearing witness to the peeling of my layers.
She's right.
As the session ended, she searched for a word to best describe me right now. As her blue eyes turned towards the ceiling, she looked back at me and said, "Raw. You are raw right now."
She's right about that, too.
It was an extremely emotional session.
Two More Weeks
Found out yesterday that I won't be moving out as soon as I'd thought. I've been shaking ever since. There was a time when I would have taken it as a sign - a time when I was more spiritual - but now, I'm just scared.
Scared because I don't want to go through all these emotions with him. I had another nightmare last night about him, too, but this one wasn't as bad as yesterday, although I feel it's very telling.
In the dream we were at a wedding with a friend from my past - long, long ago who wasn't ever really a friend. I don't know why he was in the dream; he was my ex-husband's friend.
Anyway, it was a serve-yourself-buffet kind of place, very unique. I fell, twice, trying to get food because the building spun around. It was a spinning building (very slowly) so you could see the view outside from all windows.
I fell the first time and was just a little embarrassed.
The second time, though, I fell and my underwear were revealed and I was horrified. I went back to the table where Gary and this old friend were and I was crying.
Gary stood up and he sheltered me from the rest of the crowd, kept talking to me calmly, told me we could go for a ride....just being very soothing.
Then, the friend said, "Gary knows you gap. He's really good with you." - by "gap" I understood him to mean lose time.
It made me cry; I woke up crying.
But with the dream, comes interpretation and I feel like Gary is responsible for showing my underwear to the entire town and then pretending to be this super nice guy (the "friend" in the dream actually raped me years ago - don't know what to make of him being in the dream). That's all I can make of it.
The night before, I dreamt that he was screaming at me and pointing his finger at me, yelling, "I'll control who you see, where you go, what you do, all the way down to what you eat!"
I woke up and vomited.
How can someone stop loving you so quickly?
Scared because I don't want to go through all these emotions with him. I had another nightmare last night about him, too, but this one wasn't as bad as yesterday, although I feel it's very telling.
In the dream we were at a wedding with a friend from my past - long, long ago who wasn't ever really a friend. I don't know why he was in the dream; he was my ex-husband's friend.
Anyway, it was a serve-yourself-buffet kind of place, very unique. I fell, twice, trying to get food because the building spun around. It was a spinning building (very slowly) so you could see the view outside from all windows.
I fell the first time and was just a little embarrassed.
The second time, though, I fell and my underwear were revealed and I was horrified. I went back to the table where Gary and this old friend were and I was crying.
Gary stood up and he sheltered me from the rest of the crowd, kept talking to me calmly, told me we could go for a ride....just being very soothing.
Then, the friend said, "Gary knows you gap. He's really good with you." - by "gap" I understood him to mean lose time.
It made me cry; I woke up crying.
But with the dream, comes interpretation and I feel like Gary is responsible for showing my underwear to the entire town and then pretending to be this super nice guy (the "friend" in the dream actually raped me years ago - don't know what to make of him being in the dream). That's all I can make of it.
The night before, I dreamt that he was screaming at me and pointing his finger at me, yelling, "I'll control who you see, where you go, what you do, all the way down to what you eat!"
I woke up and vomited.
How can someone stop loving you so quickly?
Monday, June 25, 2012
Ashamed, alone
This morning, I wrote a blog about a meltdown I had last night. It was ugly. Very ugly.
This morning's blog, though, was unfair and unkind, and it was not emotionally honest, so I removed it.
I lashed out at others instead of looking at myself.
Long story short: I went to a friend's house for dinner and drinks. I was going to leave, but was convinced to have another drink, at which point it was decided we call him to pick me up because it wasn't safe for me to drive. For a moment, I don't remember what happened. The next thing I remember is fighting with my friend in her driveway as I was taking off walking. She wasn't doing anything wrong, that I recall so I don't know what caused my angry outburst. I continued walking down the road and in my mind I hear shouts about how I'm going to get her dog killed (because the dog followed us) but it's very vague.
I don't know what happened next, but I do remember sitting on the side of the road with a woman whom I've met a couple of times but who I couldn't tell you what she was wearing or looked like. She was very soothing. She sat down with me and talked to me and I listened. I didn't hear anything but I listened, cried and rocked. And she rocked with me. She put her arms around me and rocked with me while I cried.
I don't know what I was feeling in that moment. I was certainly feeling more soothed...it was an unusual experience - especially coming from a woman. It's never happened before. I remember her saying she had four kids. Perhaps that's how she knew what to do.
I don't remember going home, but I remember him stopping on the side of the road and picking me up. I don't remember getting home, but I do remember fighting once inside.
This morning, when I woke up, I was angry at everyone else...because it was easier for me to be angry at them, than to face my own shame and humiliation. I went to my sitting spot, sat in the car in the rain and watched the raindrops fall like a waterfall on my windshield. I noticed how the curtain of water was distorting everything and making different things look like they were moving when they were stationary. I also noticed the birds flying and playing - I wondered how do they fly with wet wings? The marvel of nature I suppose.
And then I wondered, "What am I supposed to do?"
And then I thought - be honest.
So I am being honest and I was honest when I texted him and admitted to him that my drinking had gotten out of control but that I couldn't give him that. It had to be my choice, my decision. I was vulnerable; I told him I was afraid, ashamed and I don't know what to do.
His response was "make some changes in your life."
I told him I am. I have made enormous changes in my life. That's what's wrong with me now. Dear God the changes have been huge. But I don't understand what he means when he says this. What do you mean, make changes in my life? What else can I do? I'm so lost, so confused. What do you mean?!
I need help and support. I need understanding and guidance. I don't understand. I feel more alone now than I have in years. My friend is no longer speaking to me and sent me a nasty message this morning, saying as much. She called it "tough love"
I responded with not-so-nice messages to her, too. But as I sat there, looking through the distorted windshield, I realized I had reacted inappropriately and I sent her a message: "I'm sorry for last night. There is no excuse." That's as honest as I can get.
It was entirely my fault.
But there - sitting in the car, alone - my tears fell with the rain and I realized, I can't blame them. Can't blame them for leaving me. Can't blame them for quitting. These irrational outbursts, these unpredictable triggers, the drinking, the being lost...this whole journey it's too much. I know what's in my head, but they don't and they no longer trust me to tell them, nor do they want to hear it.
I think that realization was what made my stomach sink because in that moment, I realized why I am so alone. I blamed myself, hated myself, kicked myself, put myself down. I beat myself up worse than I ever have and worse than they both could, together as they sat together discussing the night before (he went to visit her...which hurt. They have each other, I have no one). Never mind that it's my fault - just saying it hurt.
Alone is such a simple word, for such a profound feeling. I don't even want to be seen or heard or talked to.
I just wanted him to love me and this wanting kills me. He can't show one ounce of love for me now. He says he's in defense mode.
He doesn't see that I am, too. That I was betrayed, too. That I was devastated, too.
I'm so confused, so hurt....so humiliated and ashamed...
....And alone.
This morning's blog, though, was unfair and unkind, and it was not emotionally honest, so I removed it.
I lashed out at others instead of looking at myself.
Long story short: I went to a friend's house for dinner and drinks. I was going to leave, but was convinced to have another drink, at which point it was decided we call him to pick me up because it wasn't safe for me to drive. For a moment, I don't remember what happened. The next thing I remember is fighting with my friend in her driveway as I was taking off walking. She wasn't doing anything wrong, that I recall so I don't know what caused my angry outburst. I continued walking down the road and in my mind I hear shouts about how I'm going to get her dog killed (because the dog followed us) but it's very vague.
I don't know what happened next, but I do remember sitting on the side of the road with a woman whom I've met a couple of times but who I couldn't tell you what she was wearing or looked like. She was very soothing. She sat down with me and talked to me and I listened. I didn't hear anything but I listened, cried and rocked. And she rocked with me. She put her arms around me and rocked with me while I cried.
I don't know what I was feeling in that moment. I was certainly feeling more soothed...it was an unusual experience - especially coming from a woman. It's never happened before. I remember her saying she had four kids. Perhaps that's how she knew what to do.
I don't remember going home, but I remember him stopping on the side of the road and picking me up. I don't remember getting home, but I do remember fighting once inside.
This morning, when I woke up, I was angry at everyone else...because it was easier for me to be angry at them, than to face my own shame and humiliation. I went to my sitting spot, sat in the car in the rain and watched the raindrops fall like a waterfall on my windshield. I noticed how the curtain of water was distorting everything and making different things look like they were moving when they were stationary. I also noticed the birds flying and playing - I wondered how do they fly with wet wings? The marvel of nature I suppose.
And then I wondered, "What am I supposed to do?"
And then I thought - be honest.
So I am being honest and I was honest when I texted him and admitted to him that my drinking had gotten out of control but that I couldn't give him that. It had to be my choice, my decision. I was vulnerable; I told him I was afraid, ashamed and I don't know what to do.
His response was "make some changes in your life."
I told him I am. I have made enormous changes in my life. That's what's wrong with me now. Dear God the changes have been huge. But I don't understand what he means when he says this. What do you mean, make changes in my life? What else can I do? I'm so lost, so confused. What do you mean?!
I need help and support. I need understanding and guidance. I don't understand. I feel more alone now than I have in years. My friend is no longer speaking to me and sent me a nasty message this morning, saying as much. She called it "tough love"
I responded with not-so-nice messages to her, too. But as I sat there, looking through the distorted windshield, I realized I had reacted inappropriately and I sent her a message: "I'm sorry for last night. There is no excuse." That's as honest as I can get.
It was entirely my fault.
But there - sitting in the car, alone - my tears fell with the rain and I realized, I can't blame them. Can't blame them for leaving me. Can't blame them for quitting. These irrational outbursts, these unpredictable triggers, the drinking, the being lost...this whole journey it's too much. I know what's in my head, but they don't and they no longer trust me to tell them, nor do they want to hear it.
I think that realization was what made my stomach sink because in that moment, I realized why I am so alone. I blamed myself, hated myself, kicked myself, put myself down. I beat myself up worse than I ever have and worse than they both could, together as they sat together discussing the night before (he went to visit her...which hurt. They have each other, I have no one). Never mind that it's my fault - just saying it hurt.
Alone is such a simple word, for such a profound feeling. I don't even want to be seen or heard or talked to.
I just wanted him to love me and this wanting kills me. He can't show one ounce of love for me now. He says he's in defense mode.
He doesn't see that I am, too. That I was betrayed, too. That I was devastated, too.
I'm so confused, so hurt....so humiliated and ashamed...
....And alone.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Relationships with DID/PTSD, incest and rape survivors
There's a book called Allies In Healing that's written specifically for partners of victims of childhood sexual abuse.It's an easy-to-read, Q&A format.
One of the questions is [paraphrasing], "Ask yourself if you're ready to be in a relationship with someone who's going through the healing process."
I'm going to tell you something: The healing process is ugly and it gets worse before it gets better. It's confusing, painful, irrational, illogical and it's definitely not like getting over spankings from when you were a kid. There are outbursts, there's rage, there's profound pain, sometimes directed at you - the partner - who is the only outlet there is.
Another of the questions in the book [paraphrasing once again] is, "When will I have my [partner] back?"
This is a good question but there's no solid answer because it honestly depends on a lot of different things: the kind of help your partner is getting, their age, their knowledge, the extent of their abuse, the extent of their willingness to delve deeper and deeper into their own pain. For awhile, it seems like everything is about them and it is...at least, for them. So it seems like you've lost your partner.
You haven't.
Your partner is doing some horrifically challenging work that requires more energy than cutting an acre lawn with fingernail clippers in 120-degree heat. It's hard, hard work.
From personal experience, I can tell you that assuring your partner you'll be there through the journey with her, and then bailing when it gets ugly, does more harm to an already wounded soul. It's better to break it off early, to understand what you're facing (possible self-injury, flashbacks, nightmares/night terrors, panic attacks, unpredictable triggers, etc.). Your partner will also probably try out every possible coping skill they know, including cutting, binging, drinking, substance abuse, and a host of other things, before they are taught - through therapy and continued work - that there are healthy ways to cope. During this time, your partner won't know who or what to trust...for them, it's like trying to learn to walk all over again, but with leg braces and pain.
It's better to get to know about these things and then say, "I don't think I can do this," in the beginning, than to wait when your partner is most vulnerable and then quit on them. It's like being abandoned all over again. It's a horrid, wretched, terrible feeling that undoes a lot of work your partner has already done.
With PTSD, here's what happens: You may say, do, act, smell, or otherwise do something that triggers a subconscious memory for your partner, and boom! Out of the blue, without either of you knowing it, you're being screamed at, or they've shut down completely, or they go into panic mode, or they self-injure. This is not your fault and is not aimed at you, nor is it your partner's fault. It is a Post-Traumatic response, triggered by the amygdala in the brain that stores memories, and it's hair-trigger quick. That's why I say it's not your partner's fault: They don't even know what's happening until it's happening and they won't know how to stop it until they've gotten through the crisis stage (more about the crisis stage can be read in the book The Courage To Heal). The crisis stage can last anywhere from weeks to months to years. Again, I believe it depends on a lot of the same categories as mentioned above.
With DID, sometimes different "parts" (or "alters") emerge out of sheer protection mode, when feeling threatened and the partner will black out - not remember - what was said or what happened (please note that DID is not as dramatic as the media and movies has portrayed it. Some people describe "switching" as a simple mood swing because it can be so well-hidden). This sounds irregular - and it is - but it's a natural structure and function of the brain for someone who's experienced complex trauma, especially as a child. Please be compassionate when this happens. Again, it's not personal. These "parts" were a brilliant, creative way for your partner to survive unbearable abuse and to protect them from experiencing the pain of it.
I read - I'm not sure where - that very few relationships survive this stage. I was certain, though, that my partner and I would make it. He read the book, Allies in Healing, and assured me he would not leave.
Unfortunately, that turned out to not be the case - the same as in many, many other books and autobiographies of survivors I've read. It's a sad plight, a sad and vicious cycle that makes partners the secondary victims of the abuse suffered by the survivor. It is, after all, difficult to see someone you once loved, crumple and crumble into something you never thought you'd see. I understand this, but leaving them when they're crumpled and crumbled and far from their best, is less healthy and helpful for them, than it is if you do it in the beginning.
Some tips:
Please.
One of the questions is [paraphrasing], "Ask yourself if you're ready to be in a relationship with someone who's going through the healing process."
I'm going to tell you something: The healing process is ugly and it gets worse before it gets better. It's confusing, painful, irrational, illogical and it's definitely not like getting over spankings from when you were a kid. There are outbursts, there's rage, there's profound pain, sometimes directed at you - the partner - who is the only outlet there is.
Another of the questions in the book [paraphrasing once again] is, "When will I have my [partner] back?"
This is a good question but there's no solid answer because it honestly depends on a lot of different things: the kind of help your partner is getting, their age, their knowledge, the extent of their abuse, the extent of their willingness to delve deeper and deeper into their own pain. For awhile, it seems like everything is about them and it is...at least, for them. So it seems like you've lost your partner.
You haven't.
Your partner is doing some horrifically challenging work that requires more energy than cutting an acre lawn with fingernail clippers in 120-degree heat. It's hard, hard work.
From personal experience, I can tell you that assuring your partner you'll be there through the journey with her, and then bailing when it gets ugly, does more harm to an already wounded soul. It's better to break it off early, to understand what you're facing (possible self-injury, flashbacks, nightmares/night terrors, panic attacks, unpredictable triggers, etc.). Your partner will also probably try out every possible coping skill they know, including cutting, binging, drinking, substance abuse, and a host of other things, before they are taught - through therapy and continued work - that there are healthy ways to cope. During this time, your partner won't know who or what to trust...for them, it's like trying to learn to walk all over again, but with leg braces and pain.
It's better to get to know about these things and then say, "I don't think I can do this," in the beginning, than to wait when your partner is most vulnerable and then quit on them. It's like being abandoned all over again. It's a horrid, wretched, terrible feeling that undoes a lot of work your partner has already done.
With PTSD, here's what happens: You may say, do, act, smell, or otherwise do something that triggers a subconscious memory for your partner, and boom! Out of the blue, without either of you knowing it, you're being screamed at, or they've shut down completely, or they go into panic mode, or they self-injure. This is not your fault and is not aimed at you, nor is it your partner's fault. It is a Post-Traumatic response, triggered by the amygdala in the brain that stores memories, and it's hair-trigger quick. That's why I say it's not your partner's fault: They don't even know what's happening until it's happening and they won't know how to stop it until they've gotten through the crisis stage (more about the crisis stage can be read in the book The Courage To Heal). The crisis stage can last anywhere from weeks to months to years. Again, I believe it depends on a lot of the same categories as mentioned above.
With DID, sometimes different "parts" (or "alters") emerge out of sheer protection mode, when feeling threatened and the partner will black out - not remember - what was said or what happened (please note that DID is not as dramatic as the media and movies has portrayed it. Some people describe "switching" as a simple mood swing because it can be so well-hidden). This sounds irregular - and it is - but it's a natural structure and function of the brain for someone who's experienced complex trauma, especially as a child. Please be compassionate when this happens. Again, it's not personal. These "parts" were a brilliant, creative way for your partner to survive unbearable abuse and to protect them from experiencing the pain of it.
I read - I'm not sure where - that very few relationships survive this stage. I was certain, though, that my partner and I would make it. He read the book, Allies in Healing, and assured me he would not leave.
Unfortunately, that turned out to not be the case - the same as in many, many other books and autobiographies of survivors I've read. It's a sad plight, a sad and vicious cycle that makes partners the secondary victims of the abuse suffered by the survivor. It is, after all, difficult to see someone you once loved, crumple and crumble into something you never thought you'd see. I understand this, but leaving them when they're crumpled and crumbled and far from their best, is less healthy and helpful for them, than it is if you do it in the beginning.
Some tips:
- Be compassionate - don't do things you know are going to trigger your partner, especially if you're breaking up because emotions are all out of control for a survivor in crisis mode.
- Remember - Remember that this person who is now completely different from the one who you met and fell in love with, is still the same person, just going through an inhuman amount of pain.
- Be patient - Know that the break-up is going to add salt to a gaping wound that's been opened by the work they've been doing. It's going to be un-utterably painful for them. Obviously it will be difficult for you, as well, but referring to tip number one, remember they're the ones in the crisis stage.
- Be discrete - Don't go out telling all your friends that you're breaking up with your partner because of all the problems she has, or - worse - tell everyone/anyone about the problems she's going through. A survivors journey is extremely personal and sharing it with anyone is a horrible betrayal.
- Be rational - Know that this person who is going through the crisis stage and reacting to your leaving, is reacting from a place of a deep wound. They are, however, still capable of love and understanding, if treated with dignity, respect and compassion. For the most part, they're not going to go out and cause a scene, rob you, steal from you, stalk you or otherwise harm you as long as you - you the one not going through the crisis stage - can keep these things in mind.
- Be honest - Remember you're the one who promised to stay, promised not to leave them as they went through this journey and then - just like they experienced probably many times before - you decided to abandon them in the midst of a crisis, when they believed in you. Although this is sadly understandable, it is wholly unkind and unfair to the survivor. They now have fresh feelings of shame, guilt, humiliation, and abandonment they have to deal with on top of what they're already coping with.
Please.
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